Monday, August 4, 2008

The Story of My Life

If I start telling the story of my life, my blog will face its death in a minute or less.

Yes, I write stories of me in here lots of times but that’s just the “me” I remember or the “me” I want to be remembered. The truth is, what you see in my blog is just a cross-section of me—the part of me that makes me “me” but it’s not really the whole “me.”

I am aware that I am, by this time, starting to lose sense.

Forgive me. I am just not in the best of moods. Twenty minutes ago, I lost the sunny disposition I’ve been trying my darn best to sport albeit my frustration in making a career here. It’s a struggle to stay positive. But my effort to keep that smile was wiped away after being slapped on the face by a cold email.

I am over reacting. The email wasn’t all that harsh but it will surely go down in history as one of the worst emails I have ever received in my entire web life.

God, I am the most naïve pessimistic in the world! What was I thinking in making myself believe that someone out there would do for me what I did for others? Now I need to scold myself for being so stupid.

If I have a set of the so-called “hang-ups” it’ll be comprised of my disappointments from finding out that the people whom I silently expect to go an extra mile to do not-necessarily-special things for me will just disappoint. In the most recent case, I asked for a favor. I am grateful that the favor had been granted but to hear negative comments which came free with it is sooo, frustrating I just want to cry!

The thing is, I am one who has a flair for making people feel special. I grant (possible) favors, and throw in my suggestions and a couple of initiative here and there to make the favor well-covered. I whine sometimes but I deliver, often times more than expected. My conscience wouldn’t let me sleep once I realize that I made someone feel awfully unimportant because I was too self-absorbed to do what was asked of me to the best of my abilities. I feel bad whenever I notice how I’ve made someone feel “unspecial."

But why the hell do some people afford to make me feel like a total pushover, a loser, a creature they could hurt just like that?

While I’m in this foul mood, I wish to say, if only to get it out of my system once and for all, that receiving an ostentatious-display-of-whatever through text messaging some month ago made me feel just as bad. I’ve become Kevin Federline. It’s not funny at all. I honestly felt insulted. I still get the urge to punch someone whenever I remember how I was brought down to that moron’s level.

I am generally a good person but crappy things happen to me.

I feel like being mocked in a cosmic conspiracy proportions.

I wonder why the cosmos goes through the trouble of making me feel bad when its ultimate message is “you are not our favorite.”

If this will make it stop, I’d say, “I get it. I get it! No need to rub it in any further.”

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